As we were getting ready to go see the doctor about Carlos’ surgery, I ran across an online article reminding me that the _____ Administration is seeking to make it legal for health care professionals to deny services to LGBQ+ Americans because God Hates Fags.
I, naturally, was instantly apprehensive about the doctor who likes to hand out Bibles. Then, at the office I saw that the receptionist is a woman with whom I used to work, and she knew me, and she knew Carlos, so I felt a little better; a little better. When the nurse called Carlos, we went back to the exam room where she took his vitals; as she was taking his blood pressure Carlos said:
“This is my husband, Bob.”
She said,
“Oh … Hello.”
I said,
“Uh oh.”
She got very curt and stiff and then … she asked where we lived before Smallville and when we said Miami she began chattering; she asked where I was from originally, and then said she’d just been to San Diego; she talked to Carlos in Spanish, and then laughed when I said I know mostly the profane parts of that language.
She couldn’t have been nicer; as was the doctor, too, and the nurse who came in to schedule the surgery and give us some information. She told Carlos that after the surgery he wasn’t to pick up anything that weighed more than ten pounds for the first several days, and then she said:
“And I always tell people, don’t even vacuum, because that’s really bad.”
Before Carlos could say a word, I said:
“He doesn’t vacuum now.”
And we all, well, except Carlos, laughed. And all was fine in Smallville. Nothing to worry about.
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